


The Origins of Rita Skeeter

by bonniobonnott



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Violence, Infidelity, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Murder, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28838604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonniobonnott/pseuds/bonniobonnott
Summary: how does one describemargueriterita daniela skeeter? resident daily prophet darling, best selling author, and the biggest gossip you'll ever meet? she is a halfblood who aligns herself with the purists, and uses her column to boost her own ego, ruin lives, and further the purist cause, discreetly of course. in this you'll see that the thirty year old columnist you see today could have been avoided had things been a little different, but they weren't, and rita skeeter is here to stay. while at hogwarts she was sorted into ravenclaw, where she thrived, getting her first start with gossip through notes written anonymously from her fourth year until her graduation, at which time she took a job at the daily prophet, and the rest is history. since then she's been writing nasty columns, and enjoying her life, feeling superior to just about everyone.





	The Origins of Rita Skeeter

**GOT A SECRET  
CAN YOU KEEP IT?**

you, marguerite daniela skeeter, in and of yourself, were a scandal. you were born on a cold chilly morning on February eleventh, on the six month anniversary of your parents wedding day, and only seven months after your parents engagement came to be. estelle had always been the girl everyone expected her to be, having been sorted into ravenclaw, she excelled in hogwarts, and it was no surprise to anyone when she took a position at the ministry shortly after her twenty-second birthday. however, as all children do, she eventually made a mistake that would determine the rest of her life. after attending a quidditch match with her older brother, she found herself face to face with t puddlemeres newest beater, nicolas skeeter. a few drinks later and she found herself in bed with nicolas skeeter. she left before he awoke the next morning, embarrassed and humiliated with herself. she went on with life as usual until she found out that her harmless night with nicolas skeeter wasn’t so harmless after all, and with crafty negations between both parties, estelle became estelle skeeter before anyone became aware of the result of their little indiscretion: you. there wasn’t true love in their marriage, if anything there was resentment in the beginning. nicolas skeeters career was just starting, and the last thing he wanted was to be tied to a wife and baby, but he didn’t dare risk scandal. scandal could ruin them both, the common theme that bonded them. whenever you were born, your parents decided to let their family, and the media alike, think that you were premature, and quite ill as a result, backed by the word of the healer after she had received a significant amount of galleons for her silence. you were three months old before you were ‘well’ enough to be shown to the world, and this was the first time the world saw the scandal became known as rita skeeter.

**SWEAR, THIS ONE YOU'LL SAVE**

while your father hadn’t been excited about your existence in the first place, especially on the realization that you were a girl and not the son he craved, nicolas skeeter knew that at least he could instill his values in you. your only true unchangeable flaw in his eyes being your eyes, the one thing of your mothers you have. the first time you learn about mudbloods you are barely three years old. your father sat you down in the parlor, and began filling your innocent mind with words and phrases describing monstrous things, not even human enough to be called a person. those were what mudbloods were, and the reason that she had to avoid these monstrous beings became quite clear to the three year old rita skeeter right away. over the next seven years your father will continually give you lessons about how to be a proper witch, although your blood was now muddied due to no fault of your own he did what damage control he could by teaching you what is right and wrong as he slowly formed your views little by little. your mother on the other hand never so much as uttered the word mudblood the entire duration of your time with her. you, being the curious being you are, once approached your mother and asked why she never used the term and her simple answer was “ I don’t feel it necessary.”. as you get older, you realize that your parents views on the subject of what it meant to be a pureblood, and relations with those of other blood status’ were far from the same. your mother seemed to have a more radical view, at least compared to your father, not that she ever voiced it around him. your mother never really seemed to voice any of the opinions she had around your father, though she told you of some of them. how she didn’t like the cologne he wore, or how she wished he would take his shoes off when he came into the home. all in all, your mother was picture of how a pureblood wife should be, at least in your fathers eyes. quiet, polite, and not questioning things. if he only knew what she thought of his views, and his actions and indiscretions. your childhood is spent in a house of unrest just waiting to boil over, and at the age of three, you are completely unaware of just how bad things will get.

**BETTER LOCK IT IN YOUR POCKET  
TAKIN' THIS ONE TO THE GRAVE**

you are ten whenever your mother dies in front of your very eyes. of every memory you have kept over the years, this one is the clearest of any of them. it was new years eve, and as was tradition, several of the elite families gathered in one of their homes to celebrate the beginning of the new year. you remember preparing for the party during the weeks leading up to it. your mother insisted on buying new outfits, even if you had plenty of things in your closet that you had only worn once. you remember the dress, white lace with silver embroidery around your neckline, cuffs, and the bottom. just as every other year your mother fixes you to look like you are some kind of doll rather than a living child, but as your mother always said, that’s what ladies do, so you knew there was no point arguing. by the time you leave your hair was braided, done so by your mothers uncharacteristically shaky hands, cherry red lip stain had been charmed onto your lips, you are wearing a pair of black heels, and a tiny silver locket ties together your outfit. as usual your parents are dressed in their finest as well, and from the outside looking in, you appear to be the picture of pureblood breeding at its finest. seeing it on the inside though, you know better than most that not everything is as perfect as it appears. your mother had been changing, slowly but surely you noticed things. whenever she went to work at the ministry your mother started to dress up a bit more, wear shorter skirts, and shirts with lower necklines. of course, at the pure age of ten, you didn’t realize why anyone would possibly do this. your father had been staying later and later after quidditch matches and practices. as a result, your family hadn’t had a single dinner together in your own home for months. things were changing, and this change would bring about your mothers ultimate demise.

Your family arrived at the party punctual as usual, and your father joined a group of other men, drinking to his heart content, nothing unusual there. as the night went on, you noticed that your mother seemed a little off. her usual smile was absent from her face, and she found herself drinking more than you had ever seen her drink in your entire life up to that point. she downed glass after glass of the wine served at the party, doing it as discreetly as possible, yet even at the age of ten, your mother couldn’t hide it from your keen eye. you walked over to ask if her everything was alright, and as usual your mother shooed you away, promising everything would be alright come morning. you didn’t know then that your mother would never see the next morning, so you went on your merry way to get the latest news on who had hexed one of their siblings. as the night grew closer and closer to midnight most of the children found their ways to their parents sides, so you decide to follow suit. however, unlike all the other children your parents aren't in the hall, and so with a little sleuthing you find yourself on the second floor, hiding behind a stand as you hear the majority of your parents argument, horrified at what you discover. your mother was leaving your father, more importantly, she was leaving you for some mudblood? how could she? anger and hurt fill you as you listen, blind at the moment to the anger growing inside of your father until he finally goes over the deep end. what followed the argument is something you will never tell another living soul. you watched as your father pushes your mother down the stairs, and you watched your mother’s body fall down the stairs until it lies limp at the bottom of the stairs as the clock strikes midnight and everyone in the hall cheers celebrating the new year.

you are stunned for a moment, not able to comprehend what had just happened as your brain tries to rationalize what just happened. you watched your mother, waiting for her to stand up, do anything, but after a few moments of seeing her lie there still on the floor you realize the horrible truth, your mother is dead. you let out a gasp upon your realization of this fact, something that is suddenly so much louder than intended following the death of your mother, and your father notices you. he starts toward you and you are frozen in fear as you stand there, unable to so much as blink. you remember the scent of alcohol as he told you what to say, and you simply nod in fear. as if a switch had been flipped, your father then calmly leads you down the stairs, careful to keep you from stepping to close to your newly deceased mother, and told you to do something he had never told you to do before. cry. you didn’t need to be told twice as the tears begin to roll down your cheeks, and within moments your father cries for help, and soon people invade the room as your father fakes for all those present, and twists the truth.

the story that goes down in the papers is your mother had gone upstairs for reasons unknown, and upon her attempt at descending the stairs to meet up with her family for the festivities she tragically tripped over herself in her drunken state, fell down the stairs, and ended up breaking her neck in the process. the next few days are filled with mourning, and kind words about your mother as you are forced to stand strong. over night your father has gone from the happily married beater for puddlemere to nicolas skeeter the grieving widow. your mother’s name is quickly forgotten as the media sympathizes with your father, and it almost is enough to make you laugh to hear their kind words to your father. as time goes on,just like every story does, the story of your mothers death dies down to become only the substance of side conversation at parties. you however never forget your mothers death, and instead of being sad that she is gone, you soon find yourself resentful of the mudblood loving traitor, and see your father as more of a hero then a killer. by the time your first day of hogwarts rolls around you don’t even care that she’s dead, or at least, you tell yourself you don’t, which is almost as good as fact.

**IF I SHOW YOU, THEN I KNOW YOU  
WON'T TELL WHAT I SAID**

hogwarts was where you turned into the person you are today. from your first train ride, until your last day in the school of witchcraft and wizardry, you began to notice a skill of their own, an ability to pick up things from even fragments of conversations and use them to your advantage. you first noticed this skill shortly after your mothers death, realizing how your father had used the facts to create a plausible theory to explain them all away. you soon came to realize that gossip is the same way, and that you had quite a knack for it. listening to the others go on and on in your car on the hogwarts express, and all of the chaos that was the sorting ceremony, you found out plenty of juicy details, even as they were sorted into ravenclaw. plenty of information to use, to twist until it was barely recognizable. the only snag came in the form of the rules your father had taught you for being the witch you should be, never let things come back to you, and never be a scandal themself, so you became strategic about it all. you would make notes containing only the newest gossip, and occasionally a few blatant lies to spice things up, and would strategically drop them off at the entrance to all four houses common rooms at some point in the day every so often. you find yourself enjoying the new chaos at hogwarts, even though some ignored its existence, everyone seemed to have at least heard of the notes that would appear mysteriously at the common room doors at some point (or so you allowed yourself to believe). you also derived a sense of power from it all. no one knew it was you, or at least, if they did know, they never told you they knew, and that was just as well.

from the time you learned about animagi in your third year at hogwarts, you decided then and there that they would become one. it was a grueling process, exasperated by the fact you wanted it to remain a secret. you studied and read for years, preparing for when they would finally put it all into action. it was in the summer after your sixth year that you put your plan into motion, finally succeeding her endeavors shortly before your seventh year was set to begin. your form was a beetle, not something you would have ever anticipated, but a useful thing in the end. no one would notice a beetle in a crowded room, or whenever spilling out their deepest and darkest fears to no one but themselves. BY the time your graduation comes about, YOU have proved to excel at transfiguration, proficient as a chaser in quidditch, and stayed just above failing in herbology. you became rita skeeter, a name you told yourself people would know one day, even if they didn’t right then.

**'CAUSE TWO CAN KEEP A SECRET  
IF ONE OF THEM IS DEAD**

after graduation, it didn’t take you long to take a job with the daily prophet, and slowly but surely you earned her way up the ranks to become a darling of the paper. your columns attract the public attention, good, bad, and ugly. as you work hard and fast in their career, in the under belly of things, you finds themselves embroiled in tom riddle’s movement, just as your father wished, you would never be able to make your blood pure, but you could do this. you never too close to the flames of the movement to get burned, but never far enough away to grow cold. you use your place in the media to control a viewpoint, to turn heads, manipulate like you always have, just like you did on new years eve all those years ago. no matter how the war ends, your hands will be clean from an outside perspective at the worst. three months after your twenty-ninth birthday, you publish your first book, a biography on the previous hogwarts headmaster, one armando dippet, titled “armando dippet: master or moron?” perhaps some bitterness and bias comes through in the scathing expose, but no one points it out, at least, no one who’s opinion holds any weight. the project was years in the making, and the day you published it, you were unsure your years of research and lies and manipulation would have been worth it until it nearly instantaneously became a best seller, flying off the shelves of bookstores across the wizarding world. you, rita skeeter, a scandal from the very beginning, have made a living of exposing the scandals of others, and the world finally knows your name, and that's all you could have ever wanted, and yet, as a war rages on outside your door, you still want more.


End file.
